An Amish Harvest

by Beth Wiseman

“What can you tell me about Peter?”

  “That depends. What would you like to know? Why he fought with Jacob? Or why he left the Amish?”

  Chapter Seven

  Generally Thursdays were quiet days, something that Eli looked forward to. His habit was to stop by Rise N’ Roll Bakery for a cinnamon caramel donut. When he was a young man, he’d eat two or three, but he had recently realized that his metabolism was changing. One donut and a cup of coffee saw him through until lunch. Of course, he’d eaten a breakfast of oatmeal and fruit when he’d risen at six o’clock, after which he’d done the few chores around his small three-acre place—caring for his mare, making sure the hound dog had water and food, watering his small garden. By the time he hitched up the buggy and drove into town, he was ready for a snack.

  He enjoyed the hour of having the office to himself. Martha never arrived before eight and the rest of the employees showed up at eight thirty. Thursdays were devoted to shipping out what was auctioned on Wednesdays and preparing for the horse auction on Friday. With the Fall Festival now in full swing, it was shaping up to be a busy week.

  When Martha stepped through the office door at seven thirty, he still had most of the donut and half a cup of coffee left.

  He heard her turn on the lamp on her desk, put her purse in the bottom drawer, and start the coffeepot. Ten minutes later she was standing in his doorway, smiling at him, clutching her coffee cup, and wearing a very pretty dark green dress.

  “I’m going to have to try one of those.”

  “Caramel cinnamon donut?”

  “I think I could smell it from my buggy.”

  “Want what’s left?”

  “Yes, but you eat it. I’ll save my first for a special occasion—like when we solve the mystery of Mr. and Mrs. Strange.”

  Eli popped the rest of the donut into his mouth, swigged it down with his nearly cold coffee, and nodded toward the chair across from his desk.

  “I have an idea,” she said. “But I’m not sure how it fits in.”

  “Tell me yours, and then I’ll tell you what I found last night.”

  “All right. I was talking to Aenti Irene, and she mentioned that Jacob once had an apprentice. His name was Peter Fisher.”

  “I remember Peter.”

  “So you knew him?”

  “Shipshe wasn’t nearly as large twenty years ago. It’s been some time since Peter lived here.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Last I heard he was living over in South Bend.”

  “South Bend? So he left the church?”

  “He did. Took up with the Mennonites, but I don’t know if it stuck.”

  “Oh.”

  Eli nearly laughed at the look of disappointment on her face—it was so childlike. Her expression reminded him of his nieces when they were told it was time for bed.

  “Thought he was our man in the ball cap?”

  “Possibly. Only because Irene said that the parting between Peter and Jacob was somewhat bitter. I thought—”

  “That he’d want to return and pay too much for Jacob’s furniture?”

  “Okay. I admit it doesn’t make much sense.”

  “No. Especially since Peter Fisher had quite the pronounced limp, and the man who bought the furniture yesterday didn’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am, not to mention Peter would be at least fifty now. The man at the auction, he was younger.”

  Martha sighed and stared at his empty donut bag as if it might sprout more baked goods.

  “What did you find last night?” she finally asked.

  “Oh. Well, it doesn’t make any more sense than yours, but I went back to look at the furniture before I left for the evening.”

  “And?”

  “Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Until I turned the furniture pieces over.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Eli shrugged. “George Hasley helped me. I guess we thought we might find something written there.”

  “Did you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what did you find?” Martha was sitting on the edge of her seat now. She’d set the coffee cup on his desk and was clutching her hands in her lap.

  “Something etched—looks to be a map.”

  For a moment she only stared at him, and then a grin spread across her face. “Just like in the mystery I read last night. It could be a map to a treasure.”

  Eli laughed. “Doubtful. I don’t know of much treasure that has been buried around Shipshe.”

  “But it is a map?”

  “Part of one.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I thought before I shipped the items off, I’d take a ride out to see Jacob and Charity.”

  “Let me get my purse.”

  “Hang on.”

  She was already at the door. She turned slowly and said, “Don’t even think of going without me.”

  “Fair enough, but I have some horses to see to for tomorrow’s auction. I thought I’d go at lunch.”

  “Even better. Solve this mystery, and we can celebrate with another caramel cinnamon donut.”

  Eli wasn’t sure how good an idea that was. Had to be a thousand calories in the thing, and he’d already devoured one. But he wouldn’t mind taking a ride down a country road with Martha Beiler, especially given the fall weather. There’d been a pleasant chill in the air when he’d been doing his morning chores.

  As he left the office and headed over to the animal barn, he found himself whistling. It was turning into a wunderbaar day, and maybe they would even find some answers.

  Chapter Eight

  Martha sat next to Eli at the old red oak dining table. It was a smaller version of the one they’d sold and had only two chairs on each side. Across from them, Charity split her attention between her husband and her guests.

  As for Jacob, he wore a bib like Martha had seen on some of the old folks at church suppers. Charity spooned what looked like vegetable broth into his mouth. The way Jacob gazed at Charity, it caused Martha’s heart to ache. She understood that kind of love, a devotion that could withstand even the ravages of a stroke and an unclear mind. She’d had that kind of love, and seeing it again . . . it caused her to feel her loneliness more sharply than before.

  “Jacob, he’s not one to speak much anymore, but we always enjoy company. Don’t we, Jacob?”

  He continued to smile at her, giving no indication that he’d heard or understood the question.

  “The auction went very well yesterday, Charity.” Eli had stopped at the bakery and picked up a pie as well as fresh bread. He’d explained to Martha that although Charity was an excellent cook, she rarely had time to bake up fresh goods. The bulk of her time was now spent caring for Jacob.

  “Glad to hear it. The Lord has been gut to us.”

  Eli cleared his throat. “We have a bit of a mystery though. The pieces made by Jacob, they went for a good deal more than I expected.”

  Charity reached forward and wiped broth off the corner of Jacob’s mouth with a dish towel. Patting him on the hand, she rose, collected the lunch dishes, and set them in the sink. Martha understood that she was taking her time, gathering her thoughts. Rinsing the dishes, pouring another cup of coffee, offering it to her guests—all were ways to slow down the conversation. The question was why had it rattled her so?

  When she returned to the table, she said, “Jacob enjoys sitting on the front porch after his lunch.”

  Eli stood, walked to the wheelchair, and released the brake. As he pushed the wheelchair through the house and out onto the covered porch, it occurred to Martha that he had done this many times before. He’d never mentioned that they were close friends, but within a Plain community it was often this way—neighbors and family helping without being asked to do so.

  By the time Eli returned to the table, Martha had fixed them both a cup of coffee and Charity seemed prepared to talk. Before Martha or Eli could ask a que
stion, she launched into an explanation.

  “I’m sure you remember that Peter Fisher was once an apprentice to Jacob. Do you recall the disagreement between the two of them?”

  “Only that there was one. I never knew what it was about.”

  “No one did. We saw no need to speak of it.”

  “You think this is related?”

  “I do.”

  Eli cleared his throat. “Did you know about the map on the bottom of the furniture?”

  “My, yes. It was my idea.”

  “I’m afraid I’m lost,” Martha admitted.

  Charity smiled, reached out, and patted her hand. “Peter came to work with my husband when he was nineteen years old. He’d tried a few other jobs, but none of them stuck. He was an excellent apprentice and would have turned into a gut furniture maker.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Peter had been with us for six years and was becoming a fine craftsman in his own right. Jacob often worked with new material, but occasionally he’d buy old pieces and refurbish them. One such piece was a large wardrobe. He purchased it at auction—” She turned to Eli. “I don’t remember now if the auction was held at your place or at the owner’s farm.”

  Eli shrugged, indicating that he didn’t recall the piece.

  “When he got the wardrobe home, and Peter began to work on it, they discovered the map. It was inside the piece, etched into the back wall.”

  “What was it a map of?”

  “We weren’t sure, but Peter got it into his head that money was involved. He was a young man, still given to flights of fancy. Jacob wanted to sand over the map, but Peter wouldn’t hear of it. They fought, and Peter became so angry that he left and vowed to never return.”

  “And he never did?” Martha asked.

  “No. It broke Jacob’s heart. Peter had become like a son to him, and we . . . well, we had already lost one son. Jacob thought that Peter would come to his senses and find his way back to Shipshe, to his home, and to us.” She paused and then smiled. “My husband couldn’t bring himself to sell the wardrobe. For years, it sat in the back of his workshop.”

  “But then something changed . . .” Martha leaned forward, feeling the answers to their questions within reach.

  “Five years ago, we began to receive letters from Peter. They revealed very little about himself, and asked nothing of how we were. He only wanted to know about the wardrobe—if we still had it. Apparently he had tried to memorize the map before he left, but over the years he’d had no luck finding whatever the map led to.”

  “Did you try to contact the original owners?” Eli asked.

  “They’d died, which is how Jacob came by the piece in the auction.”

  “Did you answer Peter’s letters?” Martha asked.

  “At first, but when it became plain that Peter was only interested in the treasure, we stopped. Jacob vowed to destroy the wardrobe, but I had a better idea.” Now her eyes twinkled, and Martha realized that somehow this woman had learned to overcome several tragedies in her life and retain her sense of humor. “I suggested that he cut up the map and use it in different pieces. That way it wouldn’t be destroyed, but neither would someone be able to become obsessed with it.”

  “Which is why I have three pieces of furniture with parts of a map.”

  “There were seven in all because Jacob cut the map up into fairly small pieces. We sold three of those when we auctioned his workshop inventory.”

  “And three are sitting on my auction floor.”

  “Correct, but you don’t have the final piece.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No.” Charity’s smile had widened.

  “Where’s the fourth piece?” Martha asked.

  “Here.” Charity tapped the table. “We knew that this would be the last thing we would ever sell. It holds too many memories, of our son, our friends, even of Peter. So Jacob glued the last piece of the map to the back of our table.”

  Chapter Nine

  I don’t understand,” Martha admitted.

  They’d turned the table upside down and were studying the map etched there.

  “This shows a number seven along a squiggly line.”

  “Plain enough.” Eli leaned closer, as if he could make more sense by putting his nose right on the map.

  “One through six were attached to other pieces of furniture.” Charity sat in one of the kitchen chairs, plucking at her apron. “I suppose three of those numbers were on the pieces you sold, Eli.”

  “Ya. Numbers four, five, and six.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense.” Martha worried her thumbnail with her front teeth. “Look, we can tell this spot is to the northwest of Shipshe, and we can tell that it has something to do with water if that’s what the wavy line next to it means.”

  “Wavy lines do usually mean water.”

  Martha resisted the urge to give him her most serious look. He was plainly enjoying himself, or enjoying watching her struggle with the mystery of the map. She was already thinking of it that way. The Mystery of the Map. She could practically see the title on the spine of a book.

  “But why bother with numbers one through six? Why not just look for number seven and find the supposed treasure? If that is a treasure chest next to it, which I rather doubt.”

  “Oh dear.” Charity stood up quickly, nearly knocking over her chair.

  “What is it?” Eli was beside her in a flash.

  “The letter. I forgot to show you the letter.”

  She returned a few minutes later with a small envelope. “We found this in one of the drawers that was built into the bottom of the old wardrobe. We thought that perhaps the husband had etched the map into the wood and the wife had written the letter for whoever found it.”

  Charity pulled the piece of paper out from the envelope and handed it to Eli. It looked as if it would fall apart in his hands—old and fragile and capable of holding great secrets. Martha crowded in next to them in order to read the faded handwriting.

  If you have found this, then you have probably also found the map. No doubt you are wondering why someone would go to so much trouble and whether there is a real treasure at the end. I’ ll attempt to answer the first and let you answer the second.

  The people of this area—all of the people—are God’s children, blessed by fertile land and bountiful harvests. We’ve had our share of trouble and tragedy, but when we pull together we find that the things we share outweigh our differences. The final destination will be revealed to the person who patiently and studiously follows the map through all seven markers. You will learn more than our history. You will receive a glimpse into the heart of the people of this region. May God bless your journey.

  As soon as she reached the bottom of the page, Martha began rereading the letter. But it made no more sense the second time.

  “The letter tells us to patiently and studiously follow the map through all the markers.” Eli chuckled. “No rewards for taking shortcuts.”

  “Indeed,” Charity agreed. “I don’t think you would recognize the seventh spot, if you hadn’t visited the first six.”

  Martha handed the letter back to Charity.

  They turned the table back over and repositioned the chairs around it. Eli went to the porch and pushed Jacob back into the house, and then he helped Charity to settle him into his bed.

  “I can tell that you two are going to follow this thing through.” Charity walked between them back to Eli’s buggy, her arms looped through theirs. “Be sure to keep me posted on what you find.”

  As they made their way back to the auction house, Martha’s mind was scattered like the seeds from the harvested stalks of grain.

  Who wrote the letter?

  Why did they go to the trouble?

  What was the person seeking the treasure supposed to learn?

  And what—if anything—waited for them at the end?

  Chapter Ten

  Eli wanted to deliver the furniture himself.
He planned to ride along with his delivery workers. Once at the house, he would ask the young man in the baseball cap to clarify his intentions. If worse came to worse, he would return the money order and refuse to sell him the pieces. The contract he had with buyers allowed him some leeway if the buyer misrepresented himself, and in this case, that just might be true.

  “You need to stay here and oversee the horse auction.”

  Martha was standing on the shipping ramp with him. Her purse was strapped over her shoulder and she’d donned a sweater for what was turning out to be a beautiful, brisk October day. Outside the dock, the festival was in full swing. Though it was only nine in the morning, already the crowds were pouring in.

  “I can go and you can stay here,” she added.

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “The auction will be fine. That’s what I hire auctioneers for.”

  “But what if they have a question or something they can’t handle? What if someone overbids on a horse?”

  “Martha, as you know, I’m not here for every auction. Stop worrying.”

  “Who said I was worrying?” She stuck her thumbnail in her mouth, realized what she was doing, and pulled it out—clasping her hands behind her back.

  “It will be fine.”

  “What if he’s dangerous? Or violent?”

  “He won’t be.”

  “Why don’t we leave the furniture here?”

  “Because there could be a very simple explanation.”

  “But the map!” She lowered her voice, as if suddenly aware that the delivery guys—Matt and Joshua—were within listening distance.

  They continued to load auction items onto the truck, as Eli tried to think of a way to discourage Martha from coming along. He was her boss and he could tell her to get back to work. But he couldn’t outright forbid it should she take it in her mind to follow them. Perhaps there was a little part of him that thought she might be handy to have along. She certainly seemed keen on solving the mystery.

  In the end, it wasn’t worth arguing with her. They rode in the front of the truck with Matt and Joshua. It was a tight fit in spite of the fact that the delivery truck had a large cab. The ride to South Bend was only forty-five minutes, but they stopped in Jamestown to deliver four rocking chairs that had sold in another of Wednesday’s auction lots. Many of the fields they passed were harvested already. In others he saw farmers working hard to bring in their crops before the weekend’s predicted rain. Both Amish and Englisch worked in the fields, sometimes side by side. For any who didn’t believe the two groups could live peaceably beside each other they had only to drive down a country road during harvesting time.